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Thread: [M - IC] The Center Will Not Hold [Hannelorian x Iwazuma]

  1. #11
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    MJRN-870 did not dream that night. Nor had she dreamt the night before, or the night before that, or the night before that, or the month before that, or the months before that, or the year before that, or the years before that. 870 did not even know what a dream was. That knowledge had long fled her mind. Sleep brought only silence and nothingness, the perfect reprieve from a long day, no matter how short that sleep was. The morning broadcast could come at any time. The morning train could be shifted, leaving them almost no time to eat or make it. You better make it, even if you were hungry. Especially if you were hungry. Common lore amongst the Civitas were that the Pubs worked better when they were starving.

    The next day started the same as the last. 870 awakened before the broadcast began, before the anthem played. She lay there in her bed roll staring out in the darkness at the ceiling. Feeling the occasionally droplet of water crash down upon her. 870 thought of what her parents had once told her, the night before they became Publicas. The last night she had spent in a real bed, as a real person with a real name. The Mare Undarum wasn't the worst place to be. The worst place had been the Mare Frigoris, one time home of the Publicas. A literal frozen hellscape that according to legend was sunk to the bottom of the sea by a Publicas rebellion, but there was no evidence to prove that, or even that the Frigoris had ever existed. A story to make his daughter feel better about her new un-life as an un-person.

    Once more 870 dragged herself out of the bedroll and stood up, stepping over the bodies of her un-family in perfect darkness. Slinking through the corridors and into the common area where their morning meal would be served. Looking across the way, an old woman tapped thrice upon the wall, a signal that it was a shower day. Once a week the Publicas were permitted to cleanse themselves, lest they offend those above them. That was unless you served the Perfectas, then you were allowed to shower twice a week. Everything was arranged by random cluster of numbers of those who lived in this residence. The only guarantee is that you were never with your family unit. That might be too comfortable.

    With little more than a nod, 870 disappeared into the room of broken tiles where shower heads hung down from the ceiling. Two knobs on the wall, one with the letter representing Hot, the other representing Cold. When 870, or anyone else for that matter turned the knob for hot, water flowed but it was ice cold, every single time. One could, of course, eventually stop recognizing this, and adjust, but 870 never did. Slipping out of her dressing gown, folding it neatly she proceeded to shower as was her privilege on this glorious day. Every day was a 'happy day,' a 'glorious day for Sauveterre.

    Even in the dim light, you could make out every bruise and scar on her body. You could practically count every rib, or see the places where broken ribs hadn't healed just right. Her body was strong, despite its appearances. 870 had mastered the art of being just starved enough to still do her tasks and avoid death. She passed on whatever food she could. There was a quiet beauty and grace in her frame. The woman who stood here was not the woman who was on the train with 810. This was both more real than that woman, and more of a lie at the same time. A twisted paradox. The four minutes they were allowed wasn't enough to do their bodies justice, but it was better than nothing.

    The group of people under the assorted shower heads unsurprisingly did not speak to one another, nor did they look. This, however, was not something about privacy, it was about fear. Without mirrors, looking at how thin, how bruised and beaten your counterparts were, regardless of gender, was as close to a mirror as they had. It was a reality no one really wanted to confront, so they kept their eyes down and simply moved as quickly as they could.

    The morning was unremarkable, as was the hurried journey to the train station and then commute to their working assignments. 870 resumed cleaning where she had left off the previous day, most of the evidence of the party had been cleaned away. With only the occasional strike to her back, for no actual reason, 870 did as she was bid. Another evening train would be missed, another night train would be boarded. Though tonight, 870 had a different destination.
    Thanks to Hayabusa/Ryoku for the set.

  2. #12
    I Forgot My Title....
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    It had rained during the night.

    This was not a surprise, nor was it particularly uncommon in the slightest. However, it did mean that Etan awoke to the sound of droplets hitting the lid of the dumpster. Etan yawned, grumbling as he looked out at the dreary day. The rain had almost entirely subsided, but mud was everywhere. When his own shower day was still at least two days away, that meant another round of dirty boots and fighting off the risk of some of it seeping into his socks. He forced himself off his mattress, taking a dusty cup he'd managed to find and swiping it through the small basin of water that had collected at the bottom of the dumpster lid. He took a sip, sighing contentedly. Rainwater was one of the most underutilized gifts the Publicas had. Rainwater wasn't tainted, wasn't in short supply. It was refreshing and just the slightest touch invigorating.

    Anything to break the monotony of another long, arduous day at work. He knew what was awaiting him: the same as every other day. This time, however, he had something new to think about. As he popped inside his domicile to partake of the small bowl of porridge that had been left out for him, Etan glanced amongst the other members of his supposed 'family' with a disinterested look on his face. His 'mother', a woman with blonde hair so light it was unusual even amongst the rest of the Publicas. His 'brothers', both of black hair that modeled their father almost perfectly. They even had his dark green eyes. All three of them ate hurriedly and quietly, waiting for the signal that they had to report to their positions. His 'father' was likely taking a shower, if he was to guess. All of them looked nothing like him. His brown hair and hazel eyes shouted that he was different from them. Always an outcast, even amongst those who were assigned his family.

    Etan quickly changed his clothes just as the working melody began to play, giving himself something at least marginally cleaner than yesterday's sweat-addled clothes. He hurried to the terminal in silence, just as he did every day. He would occasionally glance to his sides, quietly hoping he might spy the blue-eyed woman who'd perplexed him the day before, and being sadly disappointed. Not that he should have expected to spot the needle in the haystack, anyways. He supposed he wouldn't get any opportunity to dig a little further that morning. It was of little consequence, he supposed. It just meant everything would go back to normal. He gave a cheery 'hello' to the PSIC officer waiting at the terminal, who regarded him with a silent stare, his harsh eyes indicating Etan had no business speaking to him. And perhaps he didn't. But it wouldn't stop Etan from trying.

    The train ride had been uneventful, his walk to the education facility even more so. He kept his eyes scanning his surroundings, but nothing new jumped out at him. Just another day in Sauveterre, he supposed. He arrived on time as always, grabbing his mop and placing it over his shoulder just as the children began to stream in. Until he was summoned, it was his job today to keep the hallways clean whenever the children were in class. As the cheerful sounds of youth faded after the bell rang, Etan set to work, keeping his mind as blank as he could. He was less talkative than usual, not even affording his fellow janitors the greeting he usually did. He just wanted the day to end. Perhaps it was because he hoped he might locate 870 once again, or perhaps he was finally growing sick of the day in and day out. He wasn't sure anymore.

    Lunch, however, had other plans for him.

    He'd been summoned while the children ate to clean a spill of what appeared to be pudding. Etan dutifully responded as always, dragging mop and bucket into the cafeteria to set to work. He'd spotted the spill towards the back of the room; as he walked towards it to begin his duty, one of the kids stepped out in front of him, diving for his leg. Etan, not expecting the sudden attack, fell to the ground amidst cries of "Get the Pub!" Etan raised his arms defensively as six or seven children left their seats to jump on him. He felt countless fists striking every inch of skin they could reach, feet kicking his sides, disgusting globules of spit rained on him as the children abused the punching bag he had become. He didn't know how long they were on him, but when a teacher finally recalled them to their seats, every part of him was aching. That would almost certainly be a fresh round of bruises.

    He felt one more sharp kick, which finally got a cry out of Etan. He opened his eyes and stared straight up at the teacher who dismissed the kids, her sharp glasses gleaming in the cafeteria light as she glared at him. "Back to work. This isn't a break." Etan groaned as he forced himself to his feet, his body complaining the entire way. He still had to clean that spill...which had been added to since he had been tackled to the ground. Wonderful.

    Another shift came to an end with the sun having sank below the horizon. Etan sighed, deflated from the day's atrocities. Today seemed far more trying than the days prior. Maybe his mind was just elsewhere, or perhaps he truly needed a break. He would certainly not get it if he had the chance; he'd skipped his work the night before, but he couldn't afford to do it again. He trudged out of the building, hugging his sweater a little closer as the chilling bite of the night began to seep in. He sighed as he glanced up at the sky, thankful for the moment that it at least wasn't raining. For the first time since the day began, he smiled. It wasn't that bad. He could tackle this adversity. He was close to getting out of it once and for all.
    Karma is the best.

  3. #13
    The Grey Lady
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    The Night Train Revisited




    870 arrived at the platform at 11:37 that night. In the intervening hours between missing the evening train and concluding her work, 870 was made to sit quietly on the bench in that mud room. Not moving, not speaking, barely breathing. Perfect stillness and silence. It was an artform to exist as a Publicas, a living museum display, a day laborer, a thing to take out ones aggressions upon. But now, now 870 was on her own time, and free to pursue her own agenda provided she kept under the radar.

    Standing on the platform, 870 had her pale, slender hands tucked into the opposite sleeve. The ground was still wet from the day of rain. Cold rain. Just like the shower. She probably shouldn't have bothered to take one. With a protracted sigh, she cast her gaze toward the edge of the platform waiting for the train to arrive, and while she waited, exhaling quietly into the cold air of the night, her breath visible before her in a subtle cloud, she noted that 810 had also arrived, though she made no specific attempt to look at him. Not with the eyes of the government watching.

    Had he been released late from work? He surely must have, otherwise he would not have the permission he needed. There wasn't a world in which he was dillydallying and engineered the situation so he would run into her again. He surely hadn't spent his day thinking of her. That would just be silly. But now, she kept her eyes low and waited patiently. The train would still be on time. And when the time came it barreled down the tracks.

    Standing fearlessly before the PSIC officer, she handed over her slip. She did not smile, she did not nod. She lowered her hands when it had been taken and quietly slipped on to the train. Into an empty car where she raised her hand to the metal loop, it was freezing to the touch. It was a time when she missed gloves. The Publicas were not issued gloves. That would be far too sensible for them. It should be desperately uncomfortable. That was the power of the State. It was the little things they did to inconvenience them, not the harsh oppressive measures, the small joys they were robbed of.

    870 wondered if 810 would grace her car, if he was curious for more, or had a deep and abiding desire to keep his distance.
    Thanks to Hayabusa/Ryoku for the set.

  4. #14
    I Forgot My Title....
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    Etan lacked the energy to see the town that night. Rather than go out for the few hours he had, he remained in the school, electing to grab a little bit of extra rest rather than see the world around him. He knew the children would not be in class the next day, but any extra rest he could garner was more than relieving. When the mere energy to press on was a coveted commodity amongst the Publicas, Etan was silently grateful that he had lucked into such a lenient occupation. The Civitas had no desire to remain in the building beyond when they were scheduled, and Etan had built up enough good will over the last decade that he was trusted not to steal anything from the building. Not that the school had particularly much he could take without being immediately noticed. Most objects he could feasibly remove were worthless to a Publicas, and the kitchens were locked up tight at the end of every day. The one thing Etan could have wanted-food-was just out of his reach.

    Etan had grabbed what rest he could in an empty classroom, his head down at a school desk like an uninterested student. It was uncomfortable and left his back aching in a way that was irritating for long after he got up, but it was rest, and that was all that really mattered. He stretched, working the kinks he'd built up during his nap, and left the education facility. The clock in the entrance hall read 11:22. No time to dawdle, he had to get a move on if he was going to make it on time. He walked quickly; running would draw too much attention and perhaps even the ire of the 'police', who would certainly have a few questions about a Publicas out this late and running away from something. He had to move as quickly as he could without looking conspicuous.

    He arrived at the terminal at 11:33. Perhaps he'd underestimated just how fast he could move when he wasn't distracted or doing something else. He rolled his neck as he waited for the train to arrive, glancing about at the few other Publicas who were gathered for the night. Very few would arrive at the terminal so early, but as time passed, a few would trickle in here and there. Nothing compared to the crowd at the evening or morning trains, but enough that he at least wouldn't be completely alone. He leaned against the wall, watching as emotionless faces stood in their place and stared straight ahead, waiting as though they were soulless automatons. And perhaps, at least to themselves, they were. But one other figure arrived that was quite familiar, on the other side of the terminal. 870 stood as she had the night before, and for a brief instant he could have sworn she had glanced in his direction. Perhaps he was simply imagining things.

    He wasn't about to greet her out in the open. The last thing he needed was an officer to pay attention to their interaction. Being chatty was one thing, but if there was a pattern, it was another entirely. Etan sighed, giving a bright smile to the PSIC officer to his left and a wave of his hand. He, predictably, said nothing, and Etan could have sworn he'd caught a roll of his eyes. How droll. They thought themselves above the Publicas-and by standing, they were. But they were all human. The caste system was a barrier to so many connections, and Etan's feeble attempts to bring them crashing down barely resulted in as much as a breath against the steel of the law. He pulled his sweater down a bit, and bit his cheek, knowing full well a bruise was beginning to form on his chin. It wasn't large, but he could still feel where the kid had kicked him. He couldn't hide every sign he'd had a terrible day.

    As the train pulled into the terminal, Etan kept his eyes on the ground. Publicas began to slowly file in, the dozen or so scattered across the terminal entering their own cars for the most part. He sidled over in the direction of 870, entering the car she'd picked several seconds later, so as not to draw any remote suspicion. He stood stoically until the doors slid shut and the train began to pull away, at which point Etan broke his carefully sculpted character, leaning back against the wall and letting out a huge sigh. "Children can be such little devils, I swear." Etan had wanted to say that the entire day, but finally found himself alone enough around company he didn't mind being a little talkative with. "Decided today was a great day to gang-tackle and kick the snot out of a janitor. What a day."
    Karma is the best.

  5. #15
    The Grey Lady
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    MJRN-870 eyed 810 as he drew himself closer to her, still opting, however to lean against one of the walls of the car. He spoke about his day, remarking on the nature of children, which did in fact elicit something of a chuckle from 870 whose eyes never left him. "They hate us." She said plainly. "The Civvies. They hate us with every fiber of their being, and so it is only natural that their children should hate us too." 870 shrugged her shoulders, seeming at first rather indifferent to the situation and even to her own statement. As though she had long ago simply come to accept it. "They're the worst. At least the Perfs don't give us enough thought." On occasion, though to be perfectly clear it was in fact the Perfectas who controlled the strings of the Publicas.

    Letting her hand go of the metal loop, she stepped forward and moved toward him. Her hand coming to rest beneath his chin, pushing it upward to allow her to examine the young bruise more carefully. "For such small creatures, they truly can do quite a bit of damage." 870 noted the subtle differences in 810's posture from yesterday to today. This was far from the only injury he had received this day. "So you're a janitor." 870 let out something of a 'hmm' in observation. "For a civvy school." She chuckled once more. "Children of Perfectas do not physically assault us, they use their words first and foremost."

    870 knew that better than most, spending her every day inside a Perfectas home. Her patron, as they were called, was none other than Governor Benedictus. A ranking member of the High Council, ruler of the Lacus Somniorum, the section of Sauveterre that was reserved for the elite of the elite. His children were cruel, but in a very different way from the ones who inhabited 810's school. "Sorry, I meant Education Center." School was not a term used commonly anymore, instead another title was chosen to reflect the virtue of Sauveterre and the shifting narrative of their society.

    870 lowered her hand and stood next to 810, choosing similarly to lean against the wall, exhaling deeply. "Don't tell me you stayed late just to hope to run into me?" She asked, though it was in part more of a statement. "Someone has a bit of a crush?" She chuckled again and turned her head to watch him as he prepared to answer her. "I do hate to disappoint you but I do, in fact, have plans this evening." The lights above head flickered, the sound of the train was dull as it the car ran along the tracks, shaking slightly within the narrow tunnels.
    Thanks to Hayabusa/Ryoku for the set.

  6. #16
    I Forgot My Title....
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    MJRN-870 seemed to be in good spirits, which was good to see. Though her comment on the Civitas was hollow. "Hate...stems from misinformation. They don't understand how much they need us just to survive." Etan let out a hollow laugh. "They consume the same propaganda we do. They just choose to believe it because they're surrounded by it, with absolutely no dissent." That was the strength of an autocracy, wasn't it? They got to choose what everyone heard, what media everyone got on a daily basis. The Publicas were no different, and so many of them had fallen for the same tricks the Civitas did. "Children are just easier to mold, easier to shape into exactly what they want." Etan observed as he stared ahead at the dimly shifting walls of the tunnels outside the window. It was easier than thinking about his bruises and how painful they'd be when he went to sleep that night.

    Her observation of his occupation was met with a chuckle. "Ah, you got me. My top-secret designation." Etan sighed. "It's honestly not that bad. The kids stink, but that'd be the same even if the Publicas got a...school." Etan paused briefly before stating the word-he'd heard of it, but he'd barely used the term itself. He'd been raised in a Publicas family unit from birth, or so he was told, so he knew little of education, and even less of outdated terms such as that. "If anything, I might have one of the best positions out there. Two days a week I basically get to catch up on sleep, even use the drinking fountains. No Civvy would catch themselves dead coming in if the children aren't." Etan smirked as she pushed his chin up. "Don't worry. There's a ton more where that came from. I didn't know today I was scheduled to be a training dummy." He didn't know exactly how many children had attacked him, but it felt like a dozen, and his whole body ached like it was more.

    She leaned against the wall next to him, which would have made for a humorous sight if anyone were around to see it. "And you work for the Perfs, I take it?" How else would she know what Perfectas thought? Most Publicas almost never saw them on a daily basis, and if they did there was usually a fair bit of fanfare and forced groveling. Not something Etan particularly enjoyed. Her next question, however, had him looking at her with a slightly surprised expression. "Not just. Though I will say seeing you again is a big plus." Etan offered her a grin before shaking his head. "With my poor, mangled body as it is, I couldn't finish my duties as quickly as I'd like. I just ended up getting some rest once the doors shut." Etan explained calmly, though he wouldn't deny that he had most certainly hoped he'd run into her again. She was good conversation. Good conversation was nearly impossible to obtain as a Publicas, and she'd delivered perhaps the most entertaining night he'd had in years.

    However, her assertion that she was busy that evening brought a raised eyebrow. "Oh? Is that so?" What could she have to do so late at night? "I had something I was thinking about doing, but it sounds like you have priors." Etan turned to look at her, his hazel eyes expressing a playful attitude. "Anything fun for a Publicas like yourself? Or is it something too secret for a dirty janitor like myself to know?" Etan asked curiously. It was extremely odd for someone of their standing to have plans at all that didn't include work, and it wasn't like working overtime got them even the slightest hint of recognition. Just what did she have going on? He felt a strange tenseness in the air, as if he was on the verge of stumbling across something very important.
    Karma is the best.

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